


Shadows

by leiascully



Series: The FBI's Most Unwanted [6]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Banter, Episode Tag, Gen, Ghosts, Philadelphia, Roman Catholicism, non-kosher Mulder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4088296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scully was no fun at parties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: 1.05 "Shadows"  
> Disclaimer: _The X-Files_ and all related characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Studios. No profit is made from this and no infringement is intended.

It was strange to be with Mulder at the Liberty Bell, like the most timid first date Scully had ever been on. He'd escorted her in with a hand at the small of her back. The line wasn't long at this time of the evening. They were almost alone in the little museum. Mulder browsed around the bell, reading the inscriptions. His hair was still ruffled from the strange whirlwind in the office. A ghost, he insisted, a visitation. Scully just pursed her lips. They had rehearsed the same arguments until they could communicate their points with a lifted eyebrow and a quirked mouth.

Mulder still liked to say it out loud. "The ghost of Howard Graves, Scully," he said.

"Mulder, ghosts aren't real," Scully said patiently. Their voices curved around the hollow bronze of the big bell. It hung from its yoke in a roped-off circle, history pinned for display like a butterfly in a shadowbox.

"You told Lauren you believed," he said.

"We needed her help," Scully reminded him. "I told my little brother that Santa Claus would bring him presents if he was good. It doesn't mean I believed it."

"I bet you were a good big sister," he said, momentarily distracted. "Did you lock him in the bathroom?"

"Once," Scully said, moving to read through a history of the Bell. "But then I felt so guilty I had to confess."

"Lying's a sin," Mulder teased, sidling up behind her. "I don't think Lauren Kyte believes in Santa Claus, but she does believe that someone's watching over her. Are you going to confess that you spoke an untruth in order to further your case?"

"That's between me and my priest," Scully told him. "And it was our case, Mulder, not just mine."

"Ah, so you lied for me," he murmured over her shoulder.

"I told her what she needed to hear," Scully demurred. "That isn't a crime."

"I was in the room, Scully," Mulder said. "I don't think you did lie. I wish you'd seen it."

Scully thought of the rumple of papers, the landslide of folders. She thought of Mulder sheltering Lauren with the breadth of his shoulders, his hand tangled in Lauren's hair, holding her close as the wind tore the room apart. Dorland had been gasping for breath when she'd managed to get into the room. There were no marks on his throat. 

"A draught," she suggested.

Mulder chuckled. "Come on, Scully. That would be a hell of an HVAC malfunction. You were there. You heard it."

She bristled. "All I heard was a lot of noise. Anything could have knocked those papers off the desk." 

"Anything?" He scoffed.

She sighed and turned to face him, crossing her arms. "I can't explain it on the basis of the current evidence, but that doesn't mean it can't be explained."

"Paranormal activity," he said. "The restless spirit of Howard Graves seeking revenge from beyond the grave. Seeking to protect Lauren Kyte, who he loved like a daughter. Think of everything that Lauren experienced. What better explanation is there?"

"I won't deny that strange things seem to happen to people when they're grieving, Mulder, but powerful emotion is not the same as poltergeists," Scully argued. 

"And the man at the house?" Mulder demanded. "Suspended in mid-air, choking, in the middle of Lauren's living room?"

"All I saw was a man on the floor," Scully told him. "What does it matter what I believe or don't believe, Mulder? The case is over. Lauren is safe, and a group of men who participated in terrorism will be brought to justice."

"I just find it strange," Mulder said. "You have so much faith in this." He waved a hand at the center, the bell, the documents. "Yet you won't take it on faith that Howard Graves could still have a presence in this world."

"Of course he still has a presence in this world," Scully told him. "As long as Lauren remembers him, Howard Graves will never truly leave her. What I don't believe is that his spirit still exists in a tangible form, effecting some kind of spectral justice."

"There are more things on heaven and earth, Horatio," Mulder quipped. 

"Justice is for the living," she said. "Much like tourism." She gestured to the bell. "Was it everything you hoped for?"

"And more," he agreed easily. "What do you think - Valley Forge next, or Independence Hall? I'd take you to the Rocky Steps, but I don't think we're dressed for it."

"Save a little something for our next trip to Philadelphia," she teased. 

"I'm going to hold you to that, Scully," he said, ushering her out the door of the museum. 

"I'll expect you to haunt me if it doesn't happen," she told him. "Come on. It's been a long day. I'll buy you a cheesesteak."

"Ah, Scully," he said warmly, his hand on her shoulder blade. "Proof that someone loves us and wants us to be happy."

"I think that's beer, Mulder," she said. "Allegedly."

He shrugged. "Ben Franklin couldn't know everything. I'm sure he would have included cheesesteaks."

"I doubt he ever said it at all," Scully told him as he unlocked the rental car.

"Allegedly, you're no fun at parties," he teased her. 

"Or at seances," she agreed, opening the door.

"There go my weekend plans," he murmured.

"I'm sure you'll find some way to occupy your time," she said as they settled into their seats. "Or should I say possess your time?"

"There's always the Smithsonian," he said.


End file.
